


I Think It's Wonderful That You're 256 Colours Too

by Depressionesque



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Depressionesque/pseuds/Depressionesque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief one-shot dealing with Karkat's self-loathing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Think It's Wonderful That You're 256 Colours Too

It was from loathing that you were spawned, of that much you were sure.

You supposed it was just as well that your species had the good sense to segregate mating and spawning; Had you been so unfortunate to be spat out into the world by "parents" brought together by a kismesis, you surely would have been disdainfully quashed; crushed before dreams of escaping mediocrity and the stigma of your insufficient blood could begin to fester and bloom into self-loathing like a persistent infection. This you are also sure of.

It was never hard to find the hate-pairs. You could count them all out without much of a thought. Vriska, Eridan, Sollux... Even your moirail, Gamzee. Hate only begets more hate. You always wondered if that was what had fucked you up so bad, or if it was your shitty mutant blood which coursed through your veins on a rampage bent on destroying you.

Fuck, you're going on a tangent again. It's nothing new. Despite your denial you're painfully aware of every fault that you could ever possibly have. How fucking adorable; hardly skittering around and the wriggler is already pounding back self-loathing like a full grown purple blooded sea troll.

It's not surprising that everything went straight to Hell. (Beforus?) Some mutant blood like you with such high hopes of making something of himself; making himself better, proving he was more than his blood colour acknowledged--It was only eventual that everything you touched would rot beneath you.

From the shitty mutant universe you created, to the cancer that is killing it (ha!), or the friends you've poisoned and thus lost just by the virtue of closeness--You're aware enough to hate yourself for it but just practical enough that shuffling yourself off this Gog-damn mortal coil hadn't occurred to you. Even if it had, you hate yourself just enough to want to see yourself suffer. (Ha again!)

Now you have two dead civilizations on your hands, and if you'd be honest you probably mourn the second more. You never ruled over it despite being it's God, but you could feel superiority from tales from the humans (the only creatures uglier and stubbier than you.) No blood castes. No pailing. No complicated romances to fuck a kid up for life. Weak and pathetic, sure, but at least everyone there seemed to have the chance to be hated by virtue of their actions and not strictly based off of some random piece of genetic lottery. They were never forced into the humiliation of pailing whether you had actual feelings or not on pain of fucking death. They knew love and closeness as a rule that they took for granted. They didn't know what it was like to be raised by mindless beasts that they simultaneously had to raise in return. All they knew was unconditional love and petty attempts at passive-aggressive affection. You fucking hated them and their ability to share emotions easily and without bias.

You sigh.

It was from loathing that you were spawned. Of this much you were sure.


End file.
